


Looming

by Lifotni



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: But Mostly Just Optimus Being Wild About His Girlfriend, Elita Gets a Security Guard, Elita and Optimus Are Not Bonded, F/M, Interior Decorating, More tags to be added, Rating to Be Raised With Later Chapter, Subtle Reference to Various Symptoms of PTSD, and Optimus Gets Insecure About It, post-war AU, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifotni/pseuds/Lifotni
Summary: Optimus would have thought that after nearly fifty-thousand vorns, this tendency would be over and done with. But with his reacting being nigh-on convulsive every time that mech would lean in close to speak to her, that he would reach out to touch her arm... it would seem that such was evidently not the case.
Relationships: Elita One/Optimus Prime
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Looming

**Author's Note:**

> Hot damn, y'all, I hope you dig this one as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

The word jealousy is too often misused. 

Where people use jealousy, they often actually mean envy, and between these two words are very different definitions. 

The best way that has been heard is to describe a mech who is watching his conjunx interact with another mecha and they laugh at something the mecha says. Yes, the mech couldn’t be blamed if a bit of jealousy would enter into him. 

But if a different mech were to see a mecha whom he has become attracted to only to later realize that they are already conjunxed, well then for their conjunx he would become envious, wishing to be the one who had their spark instead.

* * *

Elita stood in the middle of what would be their living space, hands on her hips as she turned at her ankles to look around. 

He came to lean back on their island counter, the small of his back meeting the cool material.

“What are you thinking, love?” Optimus asked, watching her with searching optics. He was looking for the subtle body language he’d become fluid in understanding after over fifty-thousand vorns of learning. 

She looked over to him. “It’s big,” she laughed airily, her tone conveying her allowance for being overwhelmed. He heard it in his spark. “It’s just a lot of space that's going to be empty for a good while."

He pushed himself away from the counter and walked over to her, traversing past the spot where they had decided to settle their boxes. She opened her arms to him and he took hold of one of her servos as they pulled each other in. 

The last of the internal wiring had been finished three orns before, that being the last step before they were allowed to begin moving themselves in. Not situated, but moved out of the apartment they had been operating in for the past three Earth years - according to the time that Optimus and several other Autobots still kept - and into the structure that was to be their _ house _. 

What an odd word, but even more perplexing a word, however, was _ home _ , and that particular mysticism was something they had realized while looking at the pending-approval datapads sent to them regarding the design. The irony was that their input had very little influence on the designer’s servo, the both of them eventually realizing that they were -for lack of better words- ill-equipped with understanding what they needed in the now and what they would require vorns down the line. But that had been when friends and family stepped in, helping the couple to start with what the basic requirements _ needed _to be - and a two-room apartment model wasn’t going to cut it. They could move on from there. 

The house was one story with not a single case of stairs or raised step in sight. The floor plan was separated into two parts, one side being for their living space and meal preparation area. It was one single room with the space to fit a gathering of mecha, of which Elita was already looking forward to preparing for their inner circle. All those who had helped them create their new home in the beginnings of a _ thank you _ that they both knew they could never express enough… 

Optimus brushed his nose against the top of her helm, inhaling as he did so to flood his olfactory with her scent. It lacked what had become a characteristic tinge of gunpowder and kicked up dust, leaving for him pure sine waves of her instead. 

There was a sound system built into their wall, speakers on its either side and surround sound that had been placed about the room. Elita broke from him just for a moment to turn it on, searching through the playlists she had already downloaded until a guitar's strumming came through on the speakers. 

A "fiddle" soon joined it, and she was smiling when she came back in his arms again in the middle of their home. 

* * *

Allus was perpetually looming somewhere behind her, always finding a way to fit his mass where there was not a distance far enough between them that he couldn't reach for her if needed. 

He would stand squarely upright, shoulders held attuned and straight. His peds would maintain an exact width apart, both their high carbon steel plated tips pointed forward at just the slightest angle. His servos had their place, both usually remaining folded together in front of him with his digits interlaced. While they were walking, one would remain poised over his pistol while the other would remain at his middle, over his abdominal plating so it remained at height with her forearm. 

The vast majority of his armor was painted in a blue so deep that it appeared to be black at first glance. The satin coating lay overtop it did not assist, and it was only when he was within optimal lighting that the true color would sift through. 

His every movement seemed to be doused in purpose, the slow turns of his helm being so to survey their area. His visored optics would track without discrimination, endlessly searching the environment for that which he could deem as posing a threat to his charge. His every adjustment was deliberate and under general lighting, each and every contour would catch in the shadows as he turned his helm. A strong jaw and an equally angled chin, his facial features paired in calculated measure with his imposing frame.

But he was a quiet mech, going against what may have been preconceived notions. His lips remained in a tight line at most times, creating for him a thoughtful demeanor for those who might not have known his true purpose. Only speaking when absolutely necessary or after have been spoken to, Allus otherwise maintained the caricature of a statue. 

Or he had, till he and Elita came to a better understanding with each other. 

* * *

Optimus knew it was going to be an endeavor to get her to allow it. 

Yes, it had been a radical adjustment for him too when his security detail began, it taking over a decacycle for him to grow used to their presence in his peripheral. But to travel with some form of security was only sensible. It was for a rational purpose and was well within the realm of reason while they traveled about Cybertron to better assist in the escalating rebuilding efforts. To not have to be the ones constantly looking over their shoulders was a new experience, yes, but it soon became welcomed. Optimus came to increasingly value his detail for this very reason, not having realized just how aware he had forced himself to remain while he inspected every face, every servo, ever _ optic _ in his visual field for any sign of threat until he suddenly didn’t need to. That wasn't to say that the thought of mechs being _ paid _ to put themselves between him and an incoming assailant wasn't somewhat harrowing. 

It was immensely so. Hence the relief being slow coming, but it was one he learned to accept gladly. As long as they remained a certain distance away so that he could maintain approachability.

And so it should not have been a surprise to a single spark why Elita, his partner, would constantly refuse for a security guard to be hired for her as well. It didn't come as one for Optimus - initially - but he had a bit of an advantage, to say the least, on knowing what would serve as a tick. 

The obstacles set in place were numerous, having been gathered up for the greater part of five million years. They were every iota of Elita’s personality and experiences - every component that made up who she was- and ironically, they were every reason why she was so beloved. The hurdles in the way were every ounce of tenacity that had tipped the scales for qualifying her as the leadership was eventually to become. They were every element of stubborn resolve that made her the natural political she eventually succumbed to being. It was each atom of pride that she had _ slowly _ garnered through her life and eventually learned to forge after having to watch the new element she composed get not-so-metaphorically stepped on, crushed and shattered before she was finally able to reforge and layer her dignity to the point of rivaling damascus. 

It could only have been Primus's grand idea to put all of these together in perhaps one of the gentlest and most emphatic persons he ever sparked life into. Only he would have combined such an influx of energies with confidence for them achieving equilibrium and questionable homeostasis. 

And Optimus couldn't be more thankful to him, despite their differences. Despite the times he had cursed him, begged him for a tangible answer as to _ why _ . For why. And yet, he thanked him for when, after he and his soldiers had been on Cybertron for three orns, Elita's own crew landed beside the Arc. He thanked him for letting him still be here so he could _ still _ become frustrated with her when every fragment of her that he adored was used in opposition of him.

Every hindrance to his confidence in knowing she was safe was, ironically, the same reasons for why he loved her so, and no matter how he wanted to bury his face in his palms, he knew he'd never… never would he ever ask her to lessen the height. 

But it was just one. They weren’t even going to hire two like what Optimus had agreed with. The original number had begun at three for her, but after Elita had blatantly ignored the intended purpose of the proposals sent to her, the number was notched down to two… and then eventually to just one. 

Ultra Magnus had been valiant about his effort to hide how perturbed Elita’s silent refusals became him. He had been the one to send the proposal padwork after all, and when his _ friend _ for many millennia had so clearly disregarded his attempts at maintaining equal measures within their ranks. Well, he just did not know how to handle it and had gone to Optimus for instructions on exactly how. 

What was the reply of, “This will remain unnecessary. Thank you, Magnus.” even supposed to mean? 

Optimus listened to his friend's trouble, and the only reply he could formulate was to ask Ultra Magnus if his need for an answer had time to wait for the composition of a book. 

The Prime said he would speak to her, but as time passed on and countless other developments began to take precedence, the matter of Elita One not having a matter so trivial - to her - as a _ bodyguard _ began to fade away.

Optimus hadn’t been wanting to overly press the matter since the beginning, though he knew it would bring him immense peace of mind that there was at least one more layer of defense between his partner and, to whom she referred as, “someone wanting to act a fool”. Just another set of optics would be enough, but someone with a weapon of any capacity that they knew full and well how to operate would also have been immensely comforting. _ Someone _ that he knew was with her when Elita would do what for her came natural and go out on her own. 

But after three years… After three years and Elita was _ still _going about her orns with nothing more than a hidden pistol, her t-cog operated firearms, and of course her honed skills at hand-to-hand, Optimus was well into doubting that it would ever happen. He knew he would probably have to settle with the ease of knowing she was finally just a call away. 

That wasn’t to say, however, he kept quiet to her about how often he prayed for nothing to occur. 

* * *

Allus had been a Wrecker for a short time, hence one of his references being Kup. Regarded for his stealth despite his mass, the mech had been a spy of sorts for the special task force until an injury and a seemingly backward turn of events led to him being transferred to Special Ops - hence Jazz’s near-instant approval. There he served until the end of the War, coming back to Cybertron after a brief stay on Earth. 

It was good practice, of course, to involve references within one’s resume. Especially with a hiring process that could be the extent of surprising unorthodoxy as security guard searching. Someone knowing the demeanor and tendencies of another could make or break the applicant’s potential. But with over twenty persons to go through till they found their mecha, Optimus allowed himself to be increasingly scrutinizing. 

He developed a vetting process that even Ironhide voiced his impress for, praising his younger compatriot for its impromptu creation and the meticulousness it provided. 

Optimus had been as impressed as he could fathom himself being while he was reading Allus’s credentials. The mech was practically spotless. So when it came time for them to meet in person - along with the company of Ultra Magnus, Ironhide, Chromia, Ratchet, and by extension, Drift, Jazz, Prowl and somehow Rodimus - Optimus had prepared himself to watch his every move. 

* * *

He was in his office when he first got the call. To her credit, Elita knew that she had to be the first to speak to him. 

Her telling him that she was fine had been in lou of a greeting. His partner had thought ahead about the thrall of emotions her next words would throw him in. 

There had been a stack of datapads on the far end of his desk that had fallen over when she told him, the force of how fast he immediately rose up from his seat jolting the furniture and sending some of its various contents toppling to the floor. 

“** _Where_ ** _ are you? _” 

He would later apologize for the tone with which he said that, it coming across as far too commanding for him to permit without an apology. 

She told him not to worry, saying the thought had never even crossed her mind. 

When he got to the scene, Chromia and Ironhide were already there speaking with the officers who had performed the arrest. The suspect - which was the only current term for him at the time preceding his trial - was detained in a transport vehicle. 

Elita was standing not too far away from the couple, having already given the information she needed to provide. She had been reading, but when she spotted him, she turned and opened her arms for accepting the embrace she knew was incoming. For those who knew what they were seeing, they guessed correctly for who was truly comforting who. 

She wasn’t hurt, and for him, that was all that mattered. But such was only due to the fact that she had noticed the aspiring assassin’s approach in the reflection of the mecha’s visor she was speaking with. He was unable to pull his weapon before Elita had aimed her pistol for his helm. 

She admitted later that night when they were laying in their berth together, her partner’s arms wound around her, that a moment more could have been too late. 

Optimus was quiet about his inclination to agree. 

* * *

Elita and Allus’s first meeting had been purposed to serve as an interview. One to ensure that Optimus and their inner circle had chosen properly. But that professionalism was before it had come up in conversation that they were both from the same borough in Nyon. 

They had been able to landmark each other for where they had both grown up, and although Allus was informed of where Ariel had lived, for the information was nigh-on common knowledge, they were soon able to give each other more detailed information. A map was down on a datapad that was cleared of its previous contents just for that purpose, and labels were marked regarding areas such as the corner store where they both had once frequented. Their sires had worked with each other at the same factory. Allus had seen the graffiti mural she had created on the eastern wall an empty warehouse before it was painted over.

It was astounding to Elita, by the time they were done, that they had never made acquaintance before.

As they continued to talk with each other, slowly, gradually and just starting at the ends of a few words, their mutual accents began to bleed through in their speech until they were speaking in South Nyon’s full-blown dialect. 

She invited him to share their midday cubes of energon, and after, Allus signed the necessary datapads for his salary and benefits. Then they once more went over the schedule. Elita was very clear that she would try to forewarn him when a change was to occur, which Ultra Magnus was not shy about commenting on for its sharp contrast to her ever telling Prime’s security detail at all before she would go about her business alone. 

Elita apologized to him.

* * *

It took them only a few orns to move in completely. 

With neighbors like Ironhide and Chromia, Springer and Kup, and the whole plethora who decided to also show up, it was made astonishingly quick work of. Their limited furniture was found a place and any small adjustments to their power sources were quickly altered. 

Perhaps this wasn’t the best, however, since everyone became aware that their former leaders were in possession of a berth, a couch, two desks, a pair of datapad shelves, some conversation spurring mementos and… and that was it. Elita and Optimus assured everyone that they would get to it. They’d get to it, surely, once things began to quiet down and they could begin to adequately hunt down something resembling an aesthetic for the inside of their home. That didn’t seem to settle on believing audials, and a decacycle later, there had been enough coordination and communication to garner for them a few more pieces, including some tables and light fixtures. 

Their immediate neighbors - one being Chromia - were given codes in their house, and one evening, Elita came home to find her team had certainly been inside. Optimus returned perhaps half a joor later to find her sitting on the floor leaning against their couch, her voice soft as she spoke to someone on her communicator. On their island counter was a bottle of high-grade placed in such a way that it propped up a battery-powered digital collage of photos that had been organized in a large frame. It was all of her team, some of them being group shots on the various planets they had been stationed on. But the majority were candid, comprising of each individual in her team going about their specialization. 

There seemed to be an emphasis on finding ones where Elita was smiling, grinning. One image that he already took a particular liking too - having used it the screen on his private communicator for quite some time - was one of Elita smoking from a cigar and blowing a ring towards the camera. But the biggest image, the one in the very middle, was a group shot taken by Greenlight where Elita was in the back with her arm around Beta and Chromia, of whom was placing a kiss on her helm. 

There was a collection of datapads organized in a line on the counter too, all containing letters to their former leader. Only the first one had been opened, however, it obviously being from Firestar. 

That’s who he eventually figured she was talking to on her communicator from her cross-legged position on the floor, and Optimus kneeled to get on his knees in front of her. Their conversation was already ending, and when she ended the transmission, she let her head fall back on the arm of the couch. 

Optimus’s brow knit together when he saw the gleaming under her optics.

“Yeah,” Elita smiled up at him, having no qualms for him seeing. “That’s a lot.” 

He nodded and she leaned into his palm when he cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb sweeping under her optic to wipe her tears away. 

Optimus hadn’t seen her cry since… well, he wasn’t too keen on trying to recall it. 

They found a place to hang the frame up that night, deciding on the short hall at their front door where it would be one of the first things they saw when they came home. 

* * *

“Do you wanna have a kid?” 

Optimus lowered the datapad he was editing to look at the reflection of her optics in the window positioned across from them. He thought she was in recharge already, his partner having made herself comfortable while lain back between his legs on their couch. 

He lowered one of his servos and set it atop the one she had resting over her chest. She spread her digits to let him lace his own in his grip.

“I would,” he answered after a moment more, the sound of his voice only accompanied by the soft music on their sound system. “When the time is right. Yes, I would.” 

She seemed satisfied with this, falling into recharge a few breems later. He eventually pulled his servo back and continued typing, stopping every few sentences to read over his progress.

* * *

“No. What is it?” 

Optimus’s right audial flicked and he glanced at his partner sitting beside him. She was turned back in her chair and Allus, who was sitting in a chair immediately behind her, had placed a hand on her shoulder and was leaning in to speak to her. 

Their mechas were still getting their presentation prepared, there having been an incompatibility with software. 

He and Elita were positioned on their wrong sides, which had been due to a slight oversight in the seating arrangement. But the couple wasn’t about to raise an issue with it when so few knew about her having 70% hearing loss on her left side, and it certainly couldn’t be expected when she already called no less than three persons at this interstellar relations conference to ensure there were accommodations for Allus to sit with her. Of those who were aware of the slight impairment was Allus himself, and he was sure to always speak to her on her right when the situation allowed it. 

Optimus couldn’t hear what the mech was saying, but Elita was looking intently to whatever he held in his servo. 

“You’re not serious... “ Elita said, and he could hear her smile. 

“Damn right,” Allus nodded, putting his communicator back in its holster. Optimus glanced back again, catching Ultra Magnus’s gaze as he did so, and perhaps the first time since Optimus had known the mech, Allus was smiling, straight white denta gleaming in the venue’s lighting. 

“How the hell did you come up with that?” Elita whispered to him, to which Allus shrugged. 

She laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 and please stay tuned for the following chapter(s).


End file.
